I Divorced The Man Who Tamed Me Novel by Adrian Lockwood _ Novel




I Divorced The Man Who Tamed Me Chapter 01

In the eighth year of my marriage to Jermaine Royston, I stumbled upon an online post.
"It took me eight years to tame my wife."
The scarf in the picture was knitted by me, and the poster's profile image was my dog.
"My wife is the jealous type. Every time I get close to another woman, she becomes more compliant, hoping to make me stay.
"Now, to make sure I don't fall for someone else, she behaves as obediently as a servant."
Just as I put down my phone, Jermaine walked through the front door, holding a bouquet.
There was red lipstick on his collar, and he smelled of some perfume I didn't recognize.
"Deborah, happy anniversary!" he announced, his voice ringing with pride.
"Jermaine, let's get a divorce."
***
In an instant, Jermaine's face darkened.
He scowled at me and said, "Knock it off, Deborah. You can't say that as a joke.
"Didn't I come back today for our anniversary? Why isn't that enough?"
I hung my head and dumped the dishes that I had painstakingly prepared into the trash.
"Jermaine, I don't like the cloying smell of bluebells on you.
"It makes me sick."
Instead of getting mad, he flashed a complacent smile and approached me, arms open for a hug. "Jealous much? Don't worry. None of it is real. You'll always be my wife.
"Cale has gone to my mom's place tonight. Shall we take this chance to give him a little sister?"
If it were any other time, I might have blushed and said yes.
But now, just the thought of the post left me utterly exhausted.
As soon as his hand grazed my waist, I batted it away. "Don't touch me."
My resistance enraged Jermaine. He shot me a cold stare, his face dark. "Deborah, don't regret it."
With that, he threw the bouquet to the ground, stormed out, and slammed the door shut.
Yet I couldn't stop thinking about the post, about how he used other women to manipulate me.
Jermaine was the youngest son of the wealthy Royston family in Dallas and a familiar face at business gatherings.
Every time I offered to go with him, he would politely decline, claiming it wasn't convenient, only to show up later with someone else.
Then the next day, the intimate images of him and his date would dominate the headlines. Because of this, I argued with him a lot.
During my postpartum recovery from having Cale Royston, Jermaine brought his mistress home.
I had just finished feeding my child and felt exhausted. Yet his mistress giggled playfully, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Mr. Royston, how come your wife doesn't care about her appearance? She looks even older than you!
"I'll never get myself into such a sorry state."
Jermaine didn't defend me. He pinched her nose and cooed, "Naughty girl!"
Ignoring the pain in my stomach, I snatched the baby bottle and hurled it at them. "Jermaine, get the hell out! All of you, out!"
His mistress stepped back, terrified.
But Jermaine moved closer and hugged me. "That's enough, Deborah! Calm yourself down!
"You're still recuperating. It's not good to be upset.
"I swear there's nothing between her and me. Be good! Don't hurt yourself!"
His reaction blunted my fury, making it feel like I was punching a pillow. He pushed me over the edge, yet he acted like the good one.
I never saw that woman again.
In the eight years we shared, his infidelities had brought me to tears, to bouts of anger, and even to periods of severe depression.
Now, when I finally realized it was just a way for him to control me, an eerie calm suddenly settled over my heart.
It had been eight years. He was still using other women to test my devotion.
Did I even have a reason to keep loving him?

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